


if you leave your brother behind, it's lame (it's an effed-up world but a two player game)

by speckygit



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, THIS IS ABOUT THE CHARACTERS NOT THE REAL PEOPLE!!!, Tommy is a good brother, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, techno phil schlatt and JACK MANIFOLD are mentioned, tesco is an essential part of self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 07:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30001392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speckygit/pseuds/speckygit
Summary: Wilbur doesn’t know quite how long he’s been lying on top of his unmade bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping that something in his brain would just click so that he could get up and do something, and he doesn’t particularly want to know.And then Tommy knocks on his door, demanding that they go get meal deals.[or: wilbur is sadboi. luckily big t is the king of self-care.]
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 24
Kudos: 242





	if you leave your brother behind, it's lame (it's an effed-up world but a two player game)

**Author's Note:**

> bro do u ever create a whole new ao3 account to post mcyt fics bc theres no way ur gonna post them on ur main ao3 account........ haha
> 
> anyway have whatever THIS is. enjoy dot com.
> 
> title is from two player game from the be more chill soundrack. shut up.

Wilbur doesn’t know quite how long he’s been lying on top of his unmade bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping that something in his brain would just _click_ so that he could get up and do something, and he doesn’t particularly want to know.

He could easily look at his phone, check the time – he got out of bed this morning, stumbled to the bathroom, heard the sounds of his family talking over breakfast downstairs, and just _couldn’t._ So he skipped breakfast, stumbled back to his room, collapsed on his bed. If he wanted, he could probably calculate how long he’s been lying there.

He doesn’t really want to, though.

He doesn’t really want to do _anything,_ is the issue. He should’ve wanted to have breakfast with his family, he should’ve wanted to wave at Phil as he headed off to work, he should’ve wanted to tease Techno before he left for fencing practice, he should’ve wanted to go bother Tommy. But just the thought of doing any of that sounds exhausting. The only thing he thinks he wants right now is to close his eyes and sink into his mattress and to not have to _think_ anymore – even then, ‘want’ is a strong word. He just thinks that it would be a relief.

He’s uncomfortable, but he doesn’t plan on fixing that any time soon. There are crumbs from cereal bars in his covers that scratch his skin, just enough days have gone by since the last time he washed his hair that his scalp is beginning to itch, there’s a gross taste in his mouth from where he didn’t have the energy to brush his teeth that morning. He’s slightly too warm in his hoodie. There’s a dull ache in his head. He should go get some water, painkillers, _anything._

He carries on staring at the ceiling instead.

A door slams from somewhere downstairs, making him flinch, and then there’s the sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs.

Ah. Tommy.

Usually the sounds of his younger brother reigning chaos throughout the home would bring a smile to Wilbur’s face, but today it just makes him feel like shit. _Tommy’s been through shit too, dickhead. You don’t see him moping in bed all day. You’re pathetic._ He grabs a pillow and shoves it over his head, as if that will block out the sounds of his own thoughts.

His brain doesn’t have much time to scream at him, however, as soon enough someone is bashing at his door.

“Wilbur!” Tommy doesn’t yell, exactly, but he’s never quite understood the concept of ‘inside voices’, so it makes Wilbur’s head pound regardless. “Wilbur, are you awake? Lemme in! Wilbur!”

Wilbur doesn’t move. Maybe if he just stays still, Tommy will get bored and go away.

The walls seem to shake as Tommy bangs on the door again. Wilbur sighs.

He drags himself out of bed, wincing at the numbness in his legs, and makes his way over to the door. The knocking stops as he unlocks it, and he glares as intimidatingly as he can at Tommy as he opens the door.

Tommy, for his credit, doesn’t seem too phased.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he says, taking in the blue-purple bags under Wilbur’s eyes.

Wilbur glares harder.

“What do you want?” Wilbur asks, aiming for annoyance but really only coming across as tired. Tommy grins.

“I’m going to Tesco,” he says. “You should come with.”

What.

“What?” Wilbur blinks. “Why?”

Tommy shrugs.

“I’m hungry. Phil said he’s going shopping after work, but the kitchen is bare right now, so I’m gonna go get a meal deal.”

“No – I mean, why should I come with you?”

Tommy raises a very meaningful eyebrow at Wilbur. Wilbur glares back.

“Wilbur. Wimblur. Big Dubs. Tell me honestly. Have you eaten today?”

Wilbur suddenly finds the floor very interesting to look at.

“Have you even left your room?”

Wilbur takes offense to that.

“Course I have,” he mumbles. “Took a piss this morning.”

Tommy scoffs.

“We’re going to Tesco. Come on! I’m ‘ _ungry_. Hurry up.”  
  
Wilbur shakes his head, and Tommy groans.

“You – you go. I’m not. I – I look like shit, Tommy. I can’t go.”

“Dude. It’s only Tesco. No one is gonna blink an eye at a tired looking dude in sweatpants.”

Damn this child and his logic.

Still, Wilbur feels deeply uncomfortable with the thought of having to leave the house like this. It’s not just the fact he’s wearing sweatpants and a faded hoodie that he thinks may have once belonged to Phil – he’s been to the shops looking worse than this, in states varying from hungover to sleep-deprived to ill. Rather it’s the grogginess that clogs his brain that stops him from wanting to leave; he feels disgusting, he feels _wrong,_ a bone-deep discomfort that makes his skin itch. He knows, he _knows,_ it’s all in his head, but there’s something in the back of his mind telling him that if he goes out then everyone will know the truth. People will see him, and they’ll know that he’s like this.

But – Tommy wants to go. Tommy wants Wilbur to go with him. And Wilbur knows that if he _really_ didn’t want to go, he could tell Tommy to leave it, and Tommy will understand. Tommy will go on his own, and Wilbur can just spend the rest of the day in bed, as he planned, until Phil gets home and Tommy undoubtedly tells him that _Wil’s having a bad day, can you check on him?_

Wilbur sighs.

“Fine,” he huffs out. “Fine. I’ll come with. Just – give me a minute.” He leaves Tommy to grin and crow triumphantly and heads back into his room to grab a beanie and his wallet. He glances at his phone, plugged in and resting on his bedside table amongst empty Monster cans, and decides to go without it.

When he leaves his room, Tommy is gone - Wilbur finds him downstairs putting his shoes and coat on. Wilbur slides his own shoes on and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Ready to go, Big Man?” Tommy asks, voice still full of cheer, and Wilbur just shrugs.

The pair of them finally leave the house, shivering as they leave the warmth of the hallway for the brisk Autumn air. As Tommy locks up, Wilbur closes his eyes for a moment as the wind bites at his nose and tussles the hair that sticks out from his beanie. After spending the morning slowly overheating in his stuffy bedroom, the fresh air brings him a considerable amount of relief. He’s not suddenly cured of all negative thoughts, but he thinks that he’ll be able to cope with going to the store without any issues at least.

“Wilbur?” Tommy’s voice shakes Wilbur from his thoughts – it’s quieter than it’s been all morning, with more concern than Wilbur is used to hearing from the younger. “You alright?”

There’s suddenly a hand on Wilbur’s arm, and Tommy’s looking up at him with something unreadable in his expression. Wilbur nods, ruffles Tommy’s hair fondly, and almost grins as Tommy bats him away.

The walk to Tesco is uncharacteristically uneventful. Usually, putting the two of them together in any situation leads to chaos or mischief of some sort. Today, however, Wilbur doesn’t feel much like talking; Tommy rambles about school, about Tubbo, about the stories Techno’s been telling him – things that don’t require a response – and Wilbur lets the chatter become background noise as he zones out and lets the fresh air clear his mind.

Anxiety begins to rise in his chest as they near the Tesco, his hands beginning to shake. As if he can read Wilbur’s mind, Tommy pats him on the back just hard enough to make Wilbur cough. Wilbur turns to glare at him, only to be met with an unrepentant grin.

“C’mon, Big Man, I’m _starving,”_ Tommy grans hold of Wilbur’s arm and pulls him along, and Wilbur has no choice but to follow.

They get their meal deals – Wilbur follows Tommy through the store with his head held low, avoiding eye contact with everyone they pass. He doesn’t put a lot of thought into his food choices, but he does reach for a Monster; Tommy takes it out of his hand as soon as he picks it up and forces him to get a smoothie instead.

God. He thought he was supposed to be the overbearing one.

They eat as they walk back to the house – Wilbur doesn’t feel particularly hungry, but he can’t remember when he at last so he figures he must be. He chews his sandwich and sips at his smoothie with as much resentment as he can (how dare Tommy force him to be somewhat healthy) whilst Tommy throws Wotsits in the air and attempts to catch them in his mouth. As much as he hates to admit it, the food and the fresh air and the exercise have made Wilbur feel slightly more alive, more like a person.

Self-care is an absolute bitch.

A Wotsit bounces off Tommy’s nose and falls into a puddle, and Wilbur feels the corner of his mouth twitch at the sight of Tommy’s forlorn expression. He’s not quite ready to laugh yet, to be Fun Chaotic Wilbur, but he’s beginning to feel more like he could be at some point.

When they get back to the house, Wilbur hovers awkwardly in the hall. Part of him feels like he should retreat back to his room, shutting the world out again now that he’s been fed and gone outside, feeling guilty at bringing the mood down. The rest of him, however, really does not want to be alone again.

Luckily Tommy knows him better than basically anyone.

“Wanna see what I’ve done with my island on Animal Crossing?” He asks, already heading upstairs to his room. “I’ve completely destroyed the economy – Tom Nook is my _bitch._ ”

Wilbur shakes his head, bemused, but follows nonetheless.

“Sure. Show me your ugly-ass island.” The offended splutters he gets in response are expected. Really, though, he’s only stating the truth – Tommy has absolutely no eye for aesthetics, and Wilbur loves him for it.

The two of them curl up on Tommy’s bed, which is only sort-of made but has the advantage of not having crumbs in. Wilbur likes Tommy’s room – it’s very Teenage Boy, with cheesy gaming posters on the walls and Lego builds on the shelves and homework discarded on the desk, but as far as teenage rooms go, it’s fairly tidy. That’s the thing about Tommy – he’s a whirlwind, dominating conversations with no fear of being the centre of attention, causing chaos wherever he goes, but then he’ll surprise you by always picking up his dirty laundry.

Tommy taps his thumbs against his Switch as the game loads up, and Wilbur turns his gaze to the photos that are bluetacked above the bed’s headboard. There’s a lot of selfies of Tommy and Tubbo, the two of them pulling faces or striking dumb poses. He spots one with Ranboo in, the taller teen looking confused but happy with the others by his side. There’s one of Phil proudly wearing a t-shirt that says ‘GAMER DAD’, one of Schlatt and Tommy standing back to back with their arms crossed and sunglasses on their faces, one of Tommy and Jack Manifold doing slav squats.

There’s a lot with him and Techno in.

A photo of Wilbur playing guitar as Niki laughs at something he said, a photo of a tired-looking Techno and Steve the stuffed polar bear, a photo of Wilbur pulling his disgruntled brothers into a hug. A blurry photo of Techno looking furious, a clearer photo of him smiling as he lets a cat nose at the palm of his hand. A terrible dad-selfie that Phil took of the four of them. A terribly unflattering rollercoaster photo. A strip of photos taken from when the three brothers crammed themselves into a photobooth at the same time and yelled obscenities at each other as the camera clicked.

Another photo of Wilbur playing guitar.

A photo of Wilbur laughing in the kitchen.

Wilbur hugging Phil.

Wilbur hugging Techno.

Wilbur hugging Tommy.

Wilbur asleep on the couch, Wilbur T-posing, Wilbur trying on stupid sunglasses at Boots.

Wilbur feels his eyes begin to burn.

“Is this how you see me?” He mumbles, more to himself than anything, but Tommy looks up from where Isabelle is going through her welcoming spiel anyway. He shrugs.

“Well, yeah? I mean, it’s you, isn’t it?” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is.

Wilbur suddenly finds himself blinking very fast.

He scrubs at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Tommy – thankfully – says nothing, and instead just leans in closer to Wilbur’s side.

“Alright,” Wilbur says after a couple of deep breaths. “Alright. Show me your island.”

**Author's Note:**

> british-isms translations cuz ive been told my style of writing is 'aggressively british':
> 
> tesco: a supermarket  
> meal deal: sandwich+crisps(chips)+drink for three quid. tesco has the best selection. unbelievable savings.  
> boots: a chemist/drug store. sells like makeup and soap and stuff but also has a wall of sunglasses.   
> wotsits: basically just cheese puffs lol


End file.
